They were two handsome, big white men with big white smiles. One was maybe fifty-five years old and the other was in his very early twenties. I knew they were father and son, because I had seen this in the American South before: prosperous fathers and sons hanging out together and dressing exactly the same. They were both dressed like dads: white roll-collar Brooks Brothers button-down shirts, no ties, chinos better than Dockers that still look like Dockers, loafers, blue blazers over their arms. They radiated contentment. The shriveled weirdo in me both recoiled from them and fluttered to
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